faderift | Just when I think I find the trick

WHO: Colin + you
WHAT: Recent events catch up to him. In the worst way.
WHEN: Present, early morning.
WHERE: The apothecary in the Gallows.
NOTES: Warning: PTSD. Like, a lot of it. No holds barred. Specific triggers will include claustrophobia, agoraphobia, sleeping panic attacks, emotional flashbacks, mostly battle- and Uldred-related but may include mentions of past sexual abuse because ultimately it isn't divided into little boxes. Since it's a public space, it's not closed to existing CR or anything, but strangers may find this a lot to take on.

Of all his dreams, none are worse than the ones where he is found.

He snaps awake in the morning, shaking, sheets cold and drenched in sweat. His eyes look up and shadows shape into shades, folds of cloth into demons.

Not again not again not again not again--

He can't do this here. Audra isn't in the room at the moment but she can be, she can come back at any time and he can't be seen, he can't be found again even by someone who never hurt him, can't can't can't can't cant.

Colin races down the hallway like a flash, barefoot and unkempt, the world overexposed around him. The only things he can really focus on are things he needs to run away from. The apothecary door slams open--the store is not open yet, it is too early, but despite being a technically public place it is unlikely to be populated and there is a closet that locks and he needs dark and quiet and private. The closet door hits the wall as he flings it open and slips inside, slamming it behind him and locking it before collapsing on the floor and wailing into his hands.

He hates it, hates how loud and impossible this is, hates that it seizes on him and possesses like a demon, hates that he isn't strong enough to lock it in his body and needs a closet to contain it. With the muffled cries, he strikes his face repeatedly with one hand, stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid.

But at least in this small, dark space, he is safe. He is hidden. He can't be reached by the shapes that warp around him in the light. But he is also trapped. The walls are too close, the darkness is closer, and if he opens the door, he leaves himself exposed. There is nowhere left to go. If that lock opens, he will die.

Threaded | Flat

It isn't only him, who goes to this place to feel some modicum of safety. Alexandrie has been a not-infrequent visitor to the apothecary once Colin had left his store and taken up the mantle of a healer. There had been several afternoons of her casually bringing letters, a bit of embroidery, a book—either research or just something silly to while away an hour or so with, to read aloud particularly amusing bits of. The distillation apparatus nigh-constantly bubbling merrily away keeps the room warm enough, and the time the two of them spend in the space each at their own task is easy and quiet and companionable. Alexandrie does not do much, socially, in comfortable silence. But these times, she does.

It is perhaps small surprise that once she leaves her home again with any regularity, this is the place she comes to. Before it opens, even, having vengefully stirred herself from bed far earlier than she normally would in answer to some dream that even now she can only remember wisps of. A quick test of the door reveals it open, although not yet occupied. It's a little surprising, to have gotten here first, but the idea of being here already once Colin arrives for once an amusing enough one to quickly turn surprise to plans for how it is she might set herself up to best effect.

The door creaks as it opens, and she shuts it stoutly behind her and taps the snow from her shoes, deposits the fine white fur of her muff on a side table. Perhaps she could find and wear his apron? Be grinding herbs when he gets here?

But someone is already here. It is not the first time she has heard that muffled all-encompassing wounded sound, and all plans and amusement are immediately discarded as she tilts her face about the space, searching for the source.

"Colin, cher," a soft concerned call, more to let him know she is here than to truly ask, especially as it remains in her own language. "Où es-tu?"

Class time comes and goes without Colin showing up. Things happen, but what bothers Anders about it is that Colin didn't call on the crystals or send someone to tell him what was up. As soon as he can get away from the infirmary Anders is headed toward Colin's room and knocking lightly on the door.

"Colin? It's Anders. Are you... Can I come in?" Asking a mage if they're all right might not be entirely smart. Or productive. Especially when it's already obvious that there's something off.

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After